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dunbogusin!
Yes, ladles an' jellyspoons: Last night I e-mailed the text of Bogus Science to the publisher (only to get an out-of-office robot response from him by the time I woke today, but who cares?) and this morning I e-mailed fifty or so pix to the designer. Furthermore, after arduous, infernally brave and, ah, noble cutting of much exquisite, insightful, poetically cadenced and in places well-nigh sensuous prose, the text is about the right length.
So, although there'll inevitably be some pissing about still to do (lock up your fire hydrants, folks!), it's dun, dun, DUN!!
(Of course, somewhat over 75% of the stuff that could have gone into it has now been put into a separate file for use in the next book -- tentatively called Spooky Science -- where it'll sit until, in a year or two, my cautious publisher will give me the go-ahead for that project, by which time I'll have forgotten the plot, as it were, with all the relevant books "tidied" to distant and mutually remote parts of the house while my memories about the stuff in the file will have faded to the point that I'll be wondering why the &%$# I put those items there: "Mesmer? Rhine? D.D. Home? The names ring a bell, but . . .")
I'm planning to celebrate by getting up-to-date with the cataloguing of the video collection -- that's always a wild bacchanalian delight -- and then perhaps, over the weekend, writing a story for an antho whose editor very kindly suggested I might submit something. There's an editorial/ghosting job that'll fill up the next couple of weeks, but this requires nothing like the intense mental slog of the past months. (So, if you have any books you want written . . .)
There will also, of course, be an orgy of reading for pleasure -- it's only in the past month or so that I've stopped devoting all my reading time to Bogus Science research, and said time has anyway been limited by such factors as exhaustion. Expect a catch-up post soon about the goodies and not-so-goodies read so far.
However, if I can persuade Pam to allow it, tonight will, I think, feature some beer.
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Thanks, youngun!
(How're you feeling, by the way?)
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Fingers crossed it happens even quicker than that. At least you have the reassurance of knowing you'll be as good as new afterwards!
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Love, C.
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Thanks, sweetie!
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Gotta get the girl drunk first, eh?
(Good to have you back . . . shhh, don't tell anyone I said this.)
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"Gotta get the girl drunk first, eh?"
Who said Pam was getting any of the beer?
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You're just plain evil.
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*cocky swagger*
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Many thanks!
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It could, you know, be both.
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Pam may well let me have the celebratory beer, but I think the cheerleader is likely to be one celebration too far.
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I'd send you some, but it keeps leaking out of the mailer.
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DUN!*\o/*
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Thanks!
"we'll see more of you in our comments, and in your journal"
Not so sure about that. I've a fair amount of dashing around in circles to do catching up with all the stuff I neglected during the book's final charge.
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"Furthermore, after arduous, infernally brave and, ah, noble cutting of much exquisite, insightful, poetically cadenced and in places well-nigh sensuous prose, the text is about the right length."
Is noble cutting related to the pourriture noble prized by the vintners of Sauternes?
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"Followed, I believe, by a ball of malt."
You have the wrong unit of liquid volume, my friend. Fortunately I've recently gone metric, so it's really a matter of one litre or two . . . Three is perfectly acceptable, too.
"Is noble cutting related to the pourriture noble prized by the vintners of Sauternes?"
I've heard about them French and them's pourritures. Noble or not, you can catch a narsty disease off of a French pourriture you can . . .
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"I can't wait to read it."
You sure? I'm sort of dreading the arrival of the proofs in case, once the creative glow has faded a bit . . .
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I hate rushing a project only to realize that the end recipient wouldn't be around and technically I had a whole additional week I could have been working on it and not pulling out hair.
Glad to hear you are finally celebrating. Your eyeballs probably need the rest.
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He's away for just a couple of days and for a rather grim purpose -- he'd warned me, but I'd thought it was the end of the week he was going to be gone rather than the middle.
"Your eyeballs probably need the rest."
Actually, I've just been doing a longish blog entry, so they're hurting more than ever!
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And congrats!
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"What kind?"
We were unlucky with what the liquor store had in stock today. I was hoping for something like Liberty Ale or Old Peculier or even Arrogant Bastard, but in the end I opted for (he blushes) Corona. Pam got herself some Sam Adams Honey Porter, which is a bit more up-market. Corona's got a lot of good associations for me, though, which more than compensate for the fact that it's, well, piss: I first encountered it at the several I attended of the series of British conventions called Mexicon, when of course it was an exotic beverage for us Brits (it isn't any longer, but this was back in the '80s). I loved the Mexicons more than any other convention I've been to (with the possible exception of an Eastercon or two), and the beer reminds me of them.
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One of my friends swears by Three Philosophers, and another by Oberon. I swear by Great Lakes Brewing Company Christmas Ale, but I'm down to one left until December. *sob*
My dad likes Corona, as his Cheap Beer of Choice, so enjoy!
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"Cheap Beer of Choice"
That's about the level of it, isn't it? Corona or Foster's Bitter -- which is the nearest thing I can get in cans/bottles here to a British draught, even though it's more like a generic keg than a proper draught.
At Lunacon this past weekend we discovered the otherwise undistinguished hotel bar had excellent Bass on tap: Bass is normally a pretty safe choice, but for some reason this was quite a lot more than that -- a lovely nutty flavour, almost like a (draught or bottled British, not US imitation) Newcastle Brown, albeit without the background tartness.
"Ooh," we said happily. Then "Six bucks a pint," we said very much less happily. Luckily I've done so little beering these past few months that after a couple of pints I was having to slap the side of my head in order to be able to talk coherently, so spared us further expense.
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"Now we must dread"
Well that's not very nice!
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Hmf.
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I'll have to ask Pam.